Chemistry
by Illusion522
Summary: After the incidents at the Lockwood Estate, Claire has cut Owen off entirely. A month later when he shows up at her door, it's a battle between rationality and attraction for Claire. But she can only hold onto control for so long.


"Hi," Claire said, opening her front door to see Owen standing there, raindrops dusting his hair and settling into his clothes. "H—how'd you even get in here? The door to the building is secure— You know what? Scratch that. What... what are you doing here in the first place?" She asked him, her heart hammering in her throat and a nervous blush heating her cheeks.

"I figured it was finally my turn to show up at your door." He offered. They both stood face to face in the doorframe, the tense silence crackling like radio static between them, somehow loud enough to drown out hissing of the rain outside. It'd been over a month since the incidents at Lockwood's estate, and Claire hadn't seen Owen since the few days following when she'd told him she needed time to process things through before they rushed into something so recklessly. Like they did last time. However, she wasn't entirely surprised to see him now since he'd sent her several texts that he was coming to see her. Granted she didn't answer them, but she also never told him not to come.

"Claire, If you really don't want to see me, I can-"

"Come in." She cut in, stepping back and holding the door open.

"Oh," he uttered, actually somewhat surprised, peeling off his coat as he entered. "Thank you." It'd been a little while since he'd been in Claire's apartment, but somehow it felt as though he'd never left. It was still as immaculate as ever, boasting that chic, barely-lived-in style. But with an empty cup of tea on the counter, a blanket strewn across the couch, and even a few books out on the coffee table, at least it was lived-in at all, which was an improvement.

"Beats a van, doesn't it?" She taunted halfheartedly, picking up the aforementioned cup, dumping the teabag in the garbage and turning her back to rinse the cup out in the sink, trying to keep herself busy enough not to want him.

"Sure does." He said as she placed the cup on a drying mat and turned around to see him leaning against the counter, staring pointedly at her. She let out a sigh as he walked up to her.

"Owen, what are you doing here?"

"I, uh..." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "The cabin's comin' along well." She waited for him to continue, but that seemed to be all.

"You came all the way here to tell me that your house is _coming along well?_ "

"It is; It's actually almost done-"

"Owen."

"Alright, alright... I guess I'll just get right into it," He said, clearing his throat. "I... well, plain and simple, I... uh... well, I... God, I feel like a crazy person-"

"It _is_ kind of a crazy person thing to do to just show up at someone's..." She reacted before she could think, stopping mid-scoff at the realization she was walking straight into a pit she'd dug herself. Her first instinct was always deflect and defend, and although she'd had weeks to think and prepare for... well, not _exactly_ this, but something similar enough, no amount of time could help her think clearly when she was face-to-face with him. She was visibly kicking herself for it now, cringing at the knowledge that Owen had surely caught her mistake.

"That it is," He chuckled. "Must've been why you've done it so many times. Guess this just makes us even then, right?" There was another pause as she looked back at him, remembering all the times she'd broken down and shown up at his door. Wanting him, needing him so badly that she couldn't help but drive over to see him.

"Look, Owen. I..." She drew a deep breath, her eyelashes fanning over her cheeks as she looked down and did that little Claire nod. "I... like you very much-"

"Ooh, I've been demoted to ' _like you very much'_ now?" He teased. Conflicted, she looked back up at him, an overwhelming feeling of both yearning and sadness causing her brow to knit.

"I..." She paused. "I just know it's probably not the best idea to open up this can of worms again."

He stayed quiet, waiting for her to elaborate. She obliged easily.

"You remember last time, don't you? We were impulsive, we were... _stupid_. We were... we were... I mean, it's the same thing now as it was before. We weren't thinking. Just coasting on some high from all the mutual trauma or... or-" She was doing her best to just dismiss it all, but standing her ground was getting harder by the second. She had to stop herself from staring at the curve of his lip, the slope of his jaw, the dip where his neck met his shoulders... Her eyes flitted up and found his, so tender yet so intense. God, she wanted him so badly.

"So _after_ all that. A month back. When you kissed me-"

Claire pushed herself away from the counter, away from Owen, instead deciding to occupy herself with the task of folding up the blanket she'd left on the couch. If she wanted to maintain her sanity, then she couldn't look at him anymore. Especially if he was going to actively make her think about kissing him.

"Owen," She began as casually as she could, unsuccessfully trying to keep the nervous laughter from seeping through as she got more and more worked up. "We both know this is all just _so_ irrational. It's... it's... Look. Near-death experience, adrenaline. Eye contact, oxytocin. A brutal puncture wound in my leg, more chemicals. A little girl with no parents who needed us, I- I- I don't know, probably _some_ kind of hormonal spike. I mean, come on, Grady; We've done this before, and it's nothing. It's just c—"

"Chemistry?"

" _Yes, exactly."_ She nodded emphatically, relieved he understood. " _It's just che_ —" She half trailed off and half stopped short at the realization of what he'd _really_ said. The two stood in soft silence before she set the folded blanket down and turned to look at him directly, clenching her jaw determinedly to compensate for the fact she wasn't breathing. _God_ , was there chemistry… an uncontrollable, senseless amount of chemistry. And that was the problem: It was absolutely, uncontrollably senseless.

"Come on, Dearing," He echoed her, stepping in close to her. "We've done this before… and we both know there's a reason we're _still_ doing this."

"You mean a reason _you_ showed up—"

"And a reason that you didn't tell me _not_ to come, answered the door, let me in here, and went on talking to me." She had nothing to say, jaw hinged open, caught on words she couldn't find. He touched her wrist, beginning to trace his fingertips up her arm. It was the kind of touch that begged for more, but was so respectfully restrained it stung. He continued on. "… same reason you kissed me at the estate?"

There was a long silence that hung between them, the air paralyzingly still.

"That was… I… I was just…" Claire said, defensively struggling for the right thing to say.

"Still in love with me?" Owen finished for her. She shook her head, nervously huffing out a laugh.

"That's… not what I was going to say-"

"Am I wrong?" He challenged. "Cause if I'm wrong, you can just say so." She drew a breath to speak, but once again faltered, choking frustratingly on the vulnerable truth. "Claire, you don't need to make excuses."

"I'm not making excuses, Owen!" She snapped. "It's not... It's just..." Uncertainty clung to her words, dragging them down into another pause.

"… No excuses, huh? Then what _is_ this?" He pressed. "What's going on?"

"They're not excuses! I-I don't know! I-"

"So we're just gonna keep doing this then?"

"There is no ' _this_ ,' Owen! _You know_ we were never good together!" She fired back reactively, immediately experiencing a slap of guilt upon saying it. But she had to; She knew it was for the best for them to keep their distance. And if that meant playing hardball, then she'd do what she had to do, even if it was harsh. Even if it wasn't true. But in turn, that meant hurting Owen that much more and escalating the argument into something that much more volatile.

"Oh, so you're just gonna shut everyone out!? Just shut everyone down and never-"

"I am not!"

"Then why haven't I heard anything from you? Jesus, Claire! At least tell me to go fuck myself if that's what you want, but-"

"I needed to think-"

"You seem pretty thought out and made up already. Were you ever gonna tell me you didn't want to see me-"

She swallowed hard, tears turning her stony eyes into watercolor pools. She had shut him out, but only because she could never tell him that she didn't want to see him. She could never tell him that she didn't want to kiss him, touch him, feel him, hold him, hear him, be with him that way again. Those were lies she just couldn't sell. Not to him.

However, she also couldn't stand to lose him again, and simply avoiding things altogether was the only way she could stay right there, walking the tightrope in between. But she was barely clinging to it now, horrible butterflies panicking in the pit of her stomach as she grew dangerously close to losing her balance and finally falling to one side or the other. "Were you, Claire? Are you?!"

"Were _you_ ever going to stop being so damn stubborn, or are you going to grow up and-"

"I'm not the one who needs to grow up; At least I own up to my thoughts! If you knew already, then why the hell didn't you ever just tell me! Or was that an excuse too-"

"It wasn't!" She lied, a tear slipping from her eye. "It's not an excuse!"

"Then what the hell was all that about, huh!? You kissed me for no reason? Won't talk to me at all now, but what- what's up with you!?"

"Well what's up with _you_ then!? What's _your_ excuse, Mr. _Owns Up to His Thoughts_!? Show up to my apartment, start a fight, and _what_ , huh!?" She deflected, her words breaking like thunder over him. " _What!? What's your excuse?!_ "

"Claire, don't-"

"No, Owen! _I want to know!_ "

"It isn't-"

" _What's your excuse?!_ "

" _Goddamn it, I DON'T HAVE ONE! I LOVE YOU!_ " He yelled, eyes locked on hers. " _YOU KNOW I NEVER STOPPED LOVING YOU!_ "

A million feelings rushed through her, all bottlenecking in the back of her throat. The room rang with silence, his voice echoing in her mind, making her head reel. Neither one of them moved, and neither one of them breathed, as they stood barely inches apart. She couldn't touch him, could she? Kiss him? Not again, not after she'd done so well this time around keeping her head, not after making the same mistake time and time and time again. But no matter how objective she tried to be, she couldn't help her lungs from feeling like they could crumble at any second. She couldn't help the crippling tension between them from suffocating her, making her skin burn. She couldn't help the buzzing in her chest, begging her to get closer, closer, insatiably closer. She couldn't help her eyes from being so magnetically drawn to the curve of his lip, the slope of his jaw, the glint in his eye.

She just couldn't help herself. With trembling hands and fevered breath, they collided with the otherworldly relief of a kiss. One last mistake would have to do.


End file.
